I Hereby Acknowledge

So I was checking email down at my sister’s house. I saw 4 or 5 work emails that I thought I would get to later. I’m in charge of registration for an upcoming event at work, and people are registering via email and our website. The next day when I checked—the work emails were gone. I commented on this odd fact to my sister. Tom was laptopping away next to me and said nothing. Tappety tappety tap.

Now his NOT chiming in on a convo between my sister and me is not unusual, because he usually has no desire to weigh in on whether Old Navy’s Perfect Fit tees are better than the Baby Fit ones, but his silence seemed…notable. He also had a bit of a deer in the headlights look.

Upon pressing, I learned that he had checked our shared email account and done what he usually does, deleted the emails that were of no concern to him. He usually does this upstairs from his office on his computer and it doesn’t seem to affect my emails downstairs on mine. So I don’t want to get into a whole Yahoo/Outlook technical thing here (yawn) but suffice it to say, my wheels started turning.

Were my work emails lost forever? How many registrations were missing? Did this explain why for over a year I would check my emails from my work computer and not be able to find them when I knew full well they were on my home computer? About 4 or 5 times I’d called in tech support to help me with this, but no one had any idea of what I was talking about.

Had Tom been the culprit the whole time? He proclaimed what he had done would have NO effect on my emails. Hmmm. I was not buying this litttle co-ink-y-dink.

I don’t know whether it was the excess of Christmas cookies or a zen new attitude, but I took it in stride. Normally I would freak and worry that I would look incompetent at work. I would lash out at Tom for ruining my life. Instead, I emailed my boss and told her I had no idea who had registered. I contacted the website people at work to see if they could find the info some other way. It was notable that I didn’t get mad and didn’t start playing the blame game.

I think because it was so obviously Tom’s fault, and so clearly unintentional, that I felt sorry for him. I tend to lash out and blame others the most when I feel a bit culpable myself, and on this one I didn’t feel the need because I was smelling like a rose.

But it got me thinking. All I want in life is a little acknowledgement. Tom is not super-forthcoming in this department. He is more of the, “if we don’t talk about it, perhaps it will go away” school of thought. “Maybe Anna will forget it ever happened in the first place.” Ha. I am from the land of, “just admit you are wrong, then I’ll feel sorry for you, and we can all move on.”

I know acknowledging our failures does not come easily, especially to me. I am such a blamer I am apt to drop a can of diced tomatoes on my toe, cuss, and look around for someone else to pin it on. The thing is, when we (I) say a sincere “I screwed up" or "I’m sorry” --NOT “I’m sorry you feel that way”-- we are all better off.

After an hour Tom volunteered, “I think I may have been responsible for the disappearing emails…” Not clear cut, but it did land him firmly back on my good list. He also said perhaps we should get separate email accounts so his ardent desire for an uncluttered inbox would not adversely affect me. Bravo.

I think his motives may not have been 100% pure. He had a vested interest in getting on my good side because he knew that within the next two hours we would be headed to this bed and breakfast for our anniversary. He did not want to ruin all chances of a little Anniversary Lovin.’




Like most men, he has experienced the (insert screetchy sound effect of a needle being dragged backwards across a record) of a promising evening quickly going down the tubes because of one wrong move, look, or a careless answer to the question, “Do these Jeans make my butt look big?”

Don’t we all want the same thing? No, not a big butt or even some Anniversary Lovin’—but a little acknowledgement? It’s not that we DISLIKE doing the shopping, decorating, and un-decorating for Christmas, but we want someone to verbalize that they know these things don’t happen magically by themselves. We want someone to say, “Good job. I know packages don’t mail themselves.”

We need it. Our kids need it. Our husbands and friends need it too.

Think of how far these words could go: "I appreciate you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I screwed up. You need a break. I’m sorry. You seem worried about the kids. I haven't been spending enough time with you. I've been neglecting our friendship. I get what you’re saying. You look great in those jeans. I smell what you’re stepping in. You matter to me."

So here's to a 2010 in which we slow down, notice, and acknowledge...